Earning Her Place
by Traxits
Summary: The day Elena was promoted to the Turks did not go the way she'd originally imagined it.


**Title**: Earning Her Place  
><strong>Author<strong>: Traxits  
><strong>Rating<strong>: G.  
><strong>Content Notes<strong>: Mild violence.  
><strong>Word Count<strong>: 1221 words.  
><strong>Prompt<strong>: Final Fantasy VII, Elena — Gaining acceptance from her co-workers.  
><strong>Summary<strong>: The day Elena was promoted to the Turks did not go the way she'd originally imagined it.  
><strong>Author's Note(s)<strong>: I love Elena way too much to pass this one up.

**[[ … One-Shot … ]]**

Elena realized that there was something wrong as soon as she slid her fingers over the envelope. Tseng was frowning at her, at her placid reaction, she was sure. She'd been waiting for this day for close to two months, long enough that it was a relief to get it but short enough that she still should have been overcome with gratitude, with … something.

But she stood there in the middle of the sparring room, Tseng looking impeccable, crisp and clean, and she was still _sweating_ from her match, her blond hair limp around her face as she took the envelope from him. She couldn't even feel the texture of the paper against her taped hands, and she licked her lips slowly before she nodded. She looked up at him and managed a faltering smile.

He didn't give her the reassurances that he had a few weeks ago when she'd passed all of the tests required. He _couldn't_. He could only promote her in that moment because of what had happened to Reno— of course she'd already known that Reno was hurt; the sparring room was abuzz with the gossip— and her presence on the tight-knit squad would only make things worse.

She didn't say anything, but when Tseng instructed her to meet him in the Turk lounge in two hours, she nodded again. He left her standing there, envelope with her official orders in hand, and she was vaguely aware that someone was clapping her on the back. Congratulating her. All of the SOLDIERs she sparred with knew she'd been waiting for that envelope. She smiled mechanically, and when she walked back into the locker room, she clenched her free hand into a fist. For a moment more, she stood there, and then she slammed it into her locker door, tears in her eyes.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

She drew a deep breath, bracing herself, and she opened her locker after just a minute. There was a clear indention that she didn't doubt would come out of her next paycheck, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She set the letter in the locker organizer hanging on the back of the door, and slowly, she unwrapped her hands. She grabbed her towel, grabbed a clean tank top and shorts, and she hit the showers.

The hot water made her feel better, and when she was standing once more in front of the locker, she took the letter in hand. Her hair was clean and pulled back, and this time, she could feel the paper under her skin as she slowly opened it. Her eyes lifted momentarily to look at the Elite Emblems pinned to her organizer. Reminders of the blood she'd already shed to get this far.

Her orders were mostly garbage, the same nonsense political talk that had accompanied each of her emblems, but she traced her finger of the words 'Administrative Research' several times. Her sister had made the Turks, and now, so had Elena. Her sister had owned three emblems; Elena had five. Her sister had become fast friends with all of her coworkers, respected and close to each of them. Elena could do no less.

She folded the letter back up, tucked it into the organizer. She pulled the blue suit from the back of her locker, her fingers sliding over the fabric slowly. She'd bought it the moment she'd passed all of her exams, just in case. Just for this sort of scenario.

So when she faced her fellow Turks— Tseng and Rude— she looked the part. She was clean, pressed, and if the moment was less cheerful than she'd originally envisioned, she couldn't bring herself to complain. Tseng had broken out the whiskey— a sorrow drink, some part of her whispered, not a celebratory one— and she had taken it upon herself to match them, drink for drink.

Rude hadn't said a word, and Tseng had simply raised an eyebrow as Elena took over the pouring duties. She had the experience after all. She'd specifically worked at the bar in Wall Market to get that experience, and when she inspected the liquor cabinet and found it satisfactory, she was a little surprised at their reaction.

Tseng shook his head, a faint smile on his lips, but Rude... Rude had taken it upon himself to test her. Unofficially of course, but he would hand her his glass and ask for something. A highball. Mideel Iced Tea. Wutaian Kick-Back. She didn't let herself think as she mixed the drinks for him. If she did, she would forget the recipe, she would over analyze it.

Instead, she simply worked as instructed, and when Reno limped into the room, she made his a double. The poor bastard was on crutches, bandaged from head to toe, and she had no doubt that some low class SOLDIER was laying broken in the infirmary from trying to hold him in place. If there was, he should have known better. No Turk stayed in the infirmary any longer than was strictly necessary, and with the longer leash that Rufus was rapidly giving them, their influence had increased.

It was a good time to be a Turk, even with the terrorists and the explosions. Elena glanced out the window, and her eyes gazed over at the sight of seven, shattered and missing. She glanced sharply over at Reno, wondering if he really had been the one to do it. It was the rumor floating around the training rooms.

A flash in the reflection on the window caught her attention, and she spun around to catch the kick with her hands, shoving the leg away from her before it could connect. Without thinking, she followed through, and she found her foot held in one of Tseng's hands. His eyes missed nothing as they roved over her. She stared at him for just a moment, and when he twisted her leg— a move that should have sent her flying— she moved with it.

Her hands caught the back of the nearest chair, and she twisted it with her, using it to block Tseng's next attack, the one that was designed to crack her skull while she was vulnerable. She dropped the chair in favor of catching herself on her hands, and she swung her leg out in a low sweep that caught him just at the ankles.

He crashed to the floor, and for a moment, everyone was quiet. Then, as she stood, Reno started clapping. Rude looked over at him, then he clapped too, and Tseng picked himself up off of the floor as gracefully as he could. He dusted himself off. She swallowed but didn't let down her guard. He was testing her, seeing how she reacted even with the alcohol in her bloodstream, even with the relatively relaxed atmosphere around them.

Tseng didn't offer her his hand. Instead, he simply bowed, his hands at his sides. She hesitated only momentarily before she returned the movement, careful not to look away from him for too long. He smiled slowly.

"Welcome to the Turks, Elena," he said, and Reno and Rude clinked their glasses together. She felt the slightest of smiles touching her own face, a faint blush at the words.

_That_ was what it was supposed to be like.


End file.
